


With A Little Help From My Friends

by mozbee



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, five+one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-10 01:03:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozbee/pseuds/mozbee
Summary: or: five times Bucky only had one arm, and one time he didn't mind.--There's sassy!Clint Barton, scheming!Bruce, nostalgic!Steve, and some swear words. There's lots more too but now you know the meat of it.





	1. Alvin, he ain't

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neatoburrito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neatoburrito/gifts).



> I was never a Stucky writer or reader until I was shown the light by Neatoburrito so this is for her by me. But you're allowed to read it, too.   
> PS I love Clint-Bucky banter.

At Bucky’s irritated sigh Steve looked over sympathetically. “How long til Tony is done with it?”

Bucky glared at the television and shrugged, deep in a sulk.

Steve frowned. “It’s not like Tony to not know how long he—”

“He was vague,” Bucky said. “He wouldn’t give me a straight answer no matter how many times I asked.” His frown deepened. “I don’t see why not, it’s not like it should be hard for a self-proclaimed genius to work on a cyber arm.”

“How many times has he worked on it before?”

“…none.” Steve nodded.

“Exactly. Tony is a genius but he knows this is delicate work. He’s going to do his best for you.” He stood from the couch and turned to face Bucky. “Instead of sitting here and stewing, why don’t we do something?”

Bucky eyed him skeptically. “If you’re going to suggest rowing, I’m going to suggest you get used to spinning in a circle.”

“Come on,” Steve cajoled him. “There’s lots for a one-armed ninety-year old to do in New York City.”

“Tossing seed to the pigeons in the park only takes one arm,” Clint called from the kitchen where he was struggling with a blender.

Steve smacked the small dagger out of Bucky’s hand and gave him a warning look. “Let’s go.” He held a hand out that was ignored. Bucky stood and, as he crossed through the kitchen to the hall, unplugged the blender that Clint had just gotten to work.

“Hey!” Clint said indignantly. He glared after Bucky as he disappeared through the door, then turned to Steve and jabbed an accusatory banana at him. “Your boyfriend is a dick when he’s handicapped.”

Steve felt his face flush and he hurried out after Bucky. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he muttered as he passed Clint. The archer snorted and plugged the blender back in, tossing in the whole, unpeeled banana.

“And Natasha isn’t terrifying with a hairbrush.”

-

-

-

Steve startled when there was a low voice right in his ear. “Steve.”

He turned to face Bucky, looking forlorn. “Hey, Buck. You good?”

Bucky glared over his shoulder. “They want to start a singing circle.” Steve leaned around Bucky to peer at the gaggle of kids on the Great Lawn. They all waved enthusiastically at him and he waved back.

“What’s wrong with a singing circle?”

Bucky’s glare deepened. “They need someone to play the guitar.”

“Hey!” Steve grinned. “That’s great, you know how to—” his lips clamped shut and his eyes slid guiltily to Bucky’s empty sleeve. “Er—"

“ _You_ dragged us here, _you_ wanted to sit with the kids, _you_ need to play them something,” Bucky growled. Steve winced and looked around.

“I don’t really have anyth—” he stopped when he saw a busker packing up near a bench. “One sec.”

It was trending on Twitter and Avengers fan pages in a matter of hours: _Captain America Plays Harmonica For Group Home, Tears Up During Star Spangled Banner._

Later, in the common room of Avengers Tower, while the rest of the team howled over Bucky’s recorded footage of the event, Steve crossed his arms and glared at them.

“It was _not_ the song,” he said between gritted teeth. “I inhaled a bug and choked on it, anyone’s eyes would _water_ , not _tear up_ —”

“Why the fuck is there a banana peel twisted in my blender?” Tony cut in, thrusting the appliance in front of him to the room at large. “This is my blender from Singapore. It’s trashed. You have no respect for other people’s—”

“There’s two more in the cupboard next to the pots,” Clint interrupted.

“One,” Natasha said without looking up from the chess board in front of her. Clint frowned over at her.

“What happened to the other one?”

“Budapest.” The confusion cleared from Clint’s face and across from Natasha, Bruce snorted and moved his knight. Tony groaned loudly and dropped the blender on the kitchen island.

“You do _not_ get to use that to explain away everything when you won’t ever explain the context of _Budapest_.” He motioned to Steve and Bucky on the couch. “Boy Scouts, get them.”

“Did you just try to sic us on them?” Steve asked.

“Like dogs?” Bucky added. Tony looked between the two of them and sighed.

“Yes, and you’re right, you don’t have to say it, it was shameful.” He waved a finger at them. “I shouldn’t have had to ask.”


	2. Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree

Bucky gave Steve a skeptical look. “How did you even find out about this?”

“Pepper,” Steve admitted after a moment. “She thought it would be something I would like, considering—”

“You perpetually live in the past?” Bucky cut in, and grinned at Steve, that same, decades-familiar grin that Steve knew better than anything, whether he was ten or thirty. Steve gave Bucky a playful shove and nodded towards the theatre doors.

“Let’s go inside and find our seats.”

They were soon seated in the mezzazine section of the Met, awaiting the start of the “Revival of the Glenn Miller Orchestra.” Bucky was looking around at their fellow patrons, then he suddenly leaned into Steve.

“No one here is under eighty.”

“Then we fit right in,” Steve muttered back, and they both snorted. The house lights went down, and the curtains onstage pulled back with a dramatic swell of music. In an instant Steve was lost in the music, in the warble of the saxophone, the horns, the smooth timing of the cymbal. His eyes slid over to Bucky who wore a glazed expression, lost in memories as much as Steve was.

It was like being pulled back to their childhood, to the days of Bucky as protector, to days of wincing as antiseptic-soaked cotton balls were pressed to the gash in his chin, the scrape over his knuckles, Bucky vehemently swearing further revenge on the bullies who had cornered Steve.

They called out along with the rest in the crowd to ‘Pennsylvania 65000’, grinning at each other all the while, and when the band finished with a rousing rendition of ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo,” they were on their feet while the majority of the audience around them leaned heavily on walkers and waved an arm. Steve clapped and let out a shrill whistle, and turned to Bucky, who was biting his lip and glaring down at his clenched fist. He nudged against him questioningly, and Bucky looked up at him and shrugged, frustrated.

“I’ll just—” he said, and held out his hand, thumb pointed up. “Can’t clap,” he said with a twisted grin. Steve frowned but any reply he would have made was lost in the shuffle of Life Alert alarms and senior flatulence. They hurried out of the theatre and stood in the lobby and Bucky muttered something about the bathroom and slipped through the geriatric crowd. Steve wandered the lobby, taking in the high, arched ceiling and the artwork along the walls. A standee advertising other shows was tucked away near the box office and he wandered over. His eyes widened at an event next Saturday.

“Hey.” Steve whirled around and saw Bucky, looking annoyed as an old woman pinched his cheek and called him _kochanie_. Bucky made a face that Steve refused to call adorable and asked, “can we leave?” Steve glanced once more at the billboard behind him, cementing the date in his mind, and nodded.

When they got back to the Tower, the common floor was dark save for the flickering light from the tv playing one of the Star Wars movies. Clint lifted his head from the couch he was stretched out on and gave them a lazy wave.

“How was the show? Did you break a hip dancing?”

Steve rolled his eyes and ignored him, but Bucky took the bait and stalked into the room, stopping behind the couch. Clint looked from Bucky to the Luke on the tv and back, then grinned.

“Hey, what do you and Luke have in common?”

Having never watched the movies before, Bucky took the question seriously and squinted at the tv. “Uh, well, he’s very—”

“Neither of you will find anything at a second-hand store,” Clint cut in, and giggled. Steve’s jaw dropped and he turned from where he stood at the fridge to watch the carnage unfold. When Bucky strode into the kitchen two minutes later to ask for some of the watermelon Steve was cutting, it was to the sound of Clint cursing as he tried to unzip the couch cushion from over his head.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” Steve told Bucky as he handed off a slice of watermelon. Bucky took it with a nod of thanks and shrugged.

“You could never piss me off, Stevie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked reading, let me know if you didn't so I can dwell on that incessantly.   
> This will be updated every Sunday unless I can't contain myself. Each chapter gets longer as it goes.


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